


Dream a Little Dream

by havisham



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fancasting, Hook-Up, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his rescue, Bucky struggles to deal with his experience.  Howard ... helps. </p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">(No, he really does help. But he also ... helps.)</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Little Dream

“Damn it, Jim -- can I call you Jim, by the way? I don’t like the sound of Bucky.” Stark paused from what he was doing -- disassembling a HYDRA plasma cannon -- and looked at Bucky expectantly. 

Bucky folded his arms across his chest and said, “Sergeant Barnes is fine, Mr. Stark.” 

“Touchy,” Stark said, looking up with a twinkle in his eye. “As I was saying, Sergeant Barnes, I’m not a medical doctor. You should probably find someone else to advise on your situation.” 

Bucky suppressed a heavy sigh. He knew that Stark wasn’t an ideal candidate to talk about his disturbing dreams -- Stark never _seemed_ to sleep, so what would he know about wanting a good night’s rest? -- but there was no one else who he could talk to. 

Steve was out of the question. He’d only worry about it and that would take away from his efficiency as a super-soldier and Lord knows what would happen then. Agent Carter would only tell Steve. Colonel Phillips couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

And the camp doctors… Well, Bucky _had_ tried them first. But they could only do so much and nothing they offered worked on Bucky. They could tell him to buck up and think positive when -- 

Bucky took a deep breath and pushed down the memory of the dream he had last night. The one where he was strapped to a metal table, watching helplessly as Zola injected him with syringe after syringe with a liquid that set all of his veins on fire. The agony lasted until Bucky wasn’t Bucky anymore. He wasn’t dead, but his body moved without him wanting it to, he was helpless to make it stop. When he tried to scream, nothing came out. 

Those dreams always ended the same way -- Steve’s face appearing from the gloom. He was always too late; Bucky had to be put down. In the end, he was begging Steve to do it. 

Bucky looked up to see Stark staring at him. “You’ve been out for the last five minutes, Sergeant Barnes,” Stark said. “This have anything to with what Zola put you through? Or is it from some earlier thing?” 

Bucky grit his teeth and nodded. “It’s not about Zola.” 

Lots of guys had trouble with the things they saw. He wasn’t unique in that. Even Steve got that look sometimes, when he wasn’t too busy trying to coddle Bucky within an inch of his life. But what happened to Bucky, with Zola was unique. 

As far as he knew, no one else had survived the good doctor’s experiments.

“Tell me about what happened,” Stark said, patting a stool next to him. Bucky reluctantly did as he said, and once seated, Stark ignored him for a few more seconds before saying, impatiently, “Well?” 

“Only if you can get them to stop,” Bucky said. 

Stark looked skeptical, but he only said, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

* 

Bucky began to twitch when Stark started taking notes. 

*

“Give me a few days,” Stark said and disappeared. Where he went was way over Bucky’s pay grade. 

In the meantime, Steve started give him funny looks, almost wounded-like, and Bucky knew he had to keep his head down and sleep as far away from Steve as he could. 

With the looks the beautiful Agent Carter kept giving Steve, Bucky thought that his friend probably wouldn’t miss him much. 

Nah, that wasn’t fair. Bucky knew Steve better than that. If he and Agent Carter became an item, Bucky would have been the first to know. For now, however, Bucky did his best to be there for Steve without being around him. 

*

“This is benzodiazepine, a drug that whose core chemical structure is the fusion of a benzene ring and a diazepine ring. It’s not going to be discovered for another ten years or so, and even then, it’ll be an ‘accident’ on the part of some fortunate Stark Industries employee whose identity I haven’t decided yet. You’re lucky I’m able to give it to you, Sergeant Barnes, or it could have been a long ten years for you.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Stark?” 

“Didn’t pay attention in chemistry in high school, Barnes?” Stark waved the bottle of pills under Bucky’s nose. “I’m saying this is highly experimental drug that is -- say, ten-to-eleven years from officially existing, and from what I’ve heard, the list of potential side effects from taking it is almost as long as your arm. But it should make your dreams stop.” 

“Really?” Bucky took the bottle before Stark had a chance to change his mind. “Just a few little white pills can do that?” 

“God, kid, what do they teach you there in Brooklyn?” 

“Never to take shit from anyone from Manhattan,” Bucky said and Stark laughed. He had a nice laugh, almost enough for anyone to forget what a pain in the ass he was. 

“My girl Maria would ream you out for that, but I’m a gentleman so I’ll let you live. For now,” Stark said, and then suddenly nervous, he pushed his dark hair out of his face. “Tell me if you do get side effects. The brain’s a fascinating thing, but we know as much about it as the bottom of the ocean. Come see me if you have trouble.” 

Stark was gone in the time it took for Bucky to get a drink of water. 

*

The first night Bucky took Stark’s pills, he fell into a deep sleep, and didn’t wake until Steve was shaking him, telling him to get a move on. Bucky felt good, for a few days, until his hands began to shake. It started at the worse possible time -- just as one HYDRA agent was inching way too close to Steve. Bucky swore in frustration when his first shot went wild. The HYDRA agent knew he was spotted and scrambled around to take cover. It took another shot to bring him down. 

It was too close. Bucky was putting Steve in danger and he could not let that happen.

* 

Dernier and Gabe were trying to teach Steve and Bucky how to speak French. Bucky was worse at it than Steve -- his pronunciation was atrocious and made Dernier pull suffering faces at Gabe. Gabe was more patient but then again, he was also a genius when it came to language, and Bucky felt bad for holding him back from his translating duties. 

(He didn’t feel that bad for wasting Dernier’s time, however.)

Steve, on the other hand, was doing great, learning his verb forms like they were nothing. But then again, Steve had always been a good student, and that didn’t surprise Bucky in the least. Back in school, some of the teachers said that Steve could’ve gone to college if he’d put his mind to it. That teacher didn’t know shit about anything, but he was right that Steve always had potential. 

“So what’d you think?” Bucky said, nudging against Steve’s shoulder. 

“About what?” Steve said. 

“My French, idiot. You think the dames will be falling over themselves to get a piece of me?” 

“The dames were always falling over themselves to get a piece of you, Buck.” 

“Not anymore, or haven’t you noticed yet, Apollo?” 

Steve looked momentarily pained. “Je ne sais pas, Bucky.” 

“We both have to work on our French, then,” Bucky said, a trace smugly. 

*

The next time Bucky saw Stark, it was after a heavy firefight and the two of them are too exhausted to bicker. Instead, Stark took out a silver flask from nowhere and offered Bucky a swig. Bucky took a long one, before giving it back. 

The abandoned warehouse they were taking shelter in was ice-cold, and Bucky could have sworn that the dark around them had almost bluish cast to it. Howard, in between mouthfuls of liquor, was tinkering with something in his hands, which Bucky couldn’t make out.

Bucky stood still. He was dying for a cigarette. But he knew what the orders were -- to make sure Stark didn’t get a bullet in that big, beautiful brain of his. The others had gone ahead, but Stark had insisted on staying back and trying to gather up as many abandoned pieces of HYDRA tech he could get his hands on, all while bitching and moaning about the shitty light.

“Stark,” Bucky said, after he had quietened down some. Stark looked up, curiously. He knew that Bucky wasn’t one for idle chitchat. (At least, not anymore. But, Bucky realized, Stark hadn’t know the before, only the after.) “I'm not taking your pills anymore.” 

“What, didn’t they work?” 

 

Bucky considered saying no. But he knew that Stark would keep asking questions until he answered, so he shook his head. When Stark still looked at him, eyes burning with curiosity, Bucky elaborated. “It put me in a fog, couldn’t think straight. Almost got Steve killed, a few days back.” 

“Ah.” Stark packed in so much knowing smugness in that syllable that Bucky paused, momentarily impressed. But that turned out to be a mistake, because Stark sprang towards him suddenly, arms out. Bucky stiffened, about to protest, when he felt the snap of a bullet flying past his head. He had been distracted, again.

The next few minutes were tense, while Bucky figured out where the sniper was shooting from, and now to protect Stark until the rest got back. Stark, after his first, heroic action, seemed content now to crouch down behind the shipping crates and nitpick Bucky’s every move. 

Bucky ignored him, mostly, although the smart aleck in him couldn't resist getting a few shots in there too. By the time Steve and the rest of guys find them, Bucky and Stark were nearly at each other's throat. Somehow, though, they managed to make nice for Steve. Bucky, because he didn't want Steve to be more stressed than he already was, and Stark because -- 

Who knew why Stark ever did anything. Agent Carter radioed in shortly afterward. Maybe he was trying to impress her instead. Not that it did any good. Bucky knew, after that first, abortive attempt to charm her, that Agent Carter’s eyes were only on Steve. No one, not Stark, not Bucky, not even old FDR himself could've stirred her from her course. 

On one hand, Bucky was happy. It had been his fondest wish to see Steve settled down with a nice girl and while Agent Carter wasn’t a girl and was definitely too terrifying to be called nice -- Bucky could see in the way that the two of them looked at each other (especially when they thought the other one wasn’t looking) -- that they wouldn’t ever be able to do better. 

And that made him glad. 

Glad, but lonely, too.

Steve had once only been his. But that wasn’t true any longer. 

* 

It was only a dream. Bucky knew this because it ran along the now-familiar course will little or no variation. He was strapped to something and the more he struggled, the tighter his bonds grew. Then, he felt a sharp pain in his neck, and despite himself, he began to relax. He could see faces peering down at him, ghost-pale in the surround darkness. They looked dispassionately on as suddenly the pain flared, throughout his body, ripping into his mind. 

He was still screaming when Steve shook him awake, calling his name. “Did I wake you?” Bucky said, as soon as he _was_ awake. 

Steve gave him a lopsided smile. “So damn solicitous.” He looked like he wanted to talk about it, so Bucky headed things off at a pass by demanding a cigarette. Steve gave him a pack from his rations. He could smoke now, but never really did. Bucky lit one up and breathed in deep. They sat together for a while, in silence. 

It was good, it was worth it. 

But then Steve had to ruin it by clearing his throat and saying, “Buck. What are you gonna do after the war?” 

Bucky smirked, and kept smoking. He didn't think about the end of the war, because he was almost certain that he wouldn't be alive to see it. He'd accepted it, more or less, but he wasn't about to tell Steve that. “Maybe I'll see the country. The Grand Canyon -- out West, you know?” 

“I'll take you there,” Steve said, with an eager smile that made Bucky’s heart do an unfamiliar thing -- like it was being squeezed and expanded at the same time. He laughed to cover his embarrassment. 

“Yeah? I thought you'd want to tie the knot with Agent Carter, right off the bat. Can't let a woman like that go, Steve.” 

Steve ducked his head, his cheeks stained pink. “I don't think Peggy would want to. I mean, not right away. She’s got a career that she loves, Buck.” 

“It's the war,” Bucky said, “it throws us all in different directions. But afterwards? I don't know. Can't see the brass taking orders from Agent Carter.” 

“She'd make ‘em,” Steve said, confident. 

Bucky shrugged, conceding to Steve’s superior knowledge on the matter. “With you to back her up, bud, anything could happen.” 

*

The music was so loud that Bucky felt as though his brain was reverberating. They'd sat too close to the band for a reason, although now he couldn't remember why. Steve and Agent Carter was wrapped up in their own little world, talking a little before the music changed. She stood, holding out her hand. Steve took it, with a slight hesitation. 

Bucky stood too, abruptly, feeling suddenly, dizzy. He needed a drink. He needed to take a piss. He needed to get the fuck out of here. He decided to follow the path of least resistance, away from the dance floor and towards the quieter parts of the hall. He passed plenty of necking couples, GIs and their English girlfriends, mostly. The dancehall was really a school, done up with streamers and Union Jacks. It felt fake, almost, in its relentless cheeriness, and Bucky was glad to leave that behind. He went down a long hall, then another. He was about to slip inside one of the rooms when he heard the sound of a door being thrown open and and the tap tap tapping sound of high heels coming toward him. A blonde girl in a blue dress huffed past him, giving him barely a glance. 

She disappeared into the gloom, and curiosity made Bucky peer into the room that the girl had just vacated. It looked like some kind of lab, and he was not entirely surprised when he saw that Howard Stark was there, writing furiously on a chalkboard. He glanced up when Bucky entered -- a sharp flick of a glance and then gone -- and the resumed writing. 

“You sure know how to woo ‘em, Stark,” Bucky said, leaning against door. Stark turned to look at him, a smirk curling up his lip. 

“I'll have Jarvis send her a basketful of nylons tomorrow and all will be well.” 

“You like that?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, and came closer to Stark. He wanted to pick a fight, he realized, recognizing that prickle of excitement that ran from the base of his neck on down. “Buying people off like that?” 

“Everybody has a price, Jim.” Stark grinned at Bucky’s frown. “Although you're not giving her a lot of credit. You might see that as a purchase, but really it's a gift.” 

“A gift,” Bucky repeated, dubiously. 

“A gift, sure. I'm a generous guy.” 

“Really. Because from what I've seen -- correct me if I'm wrong, but everything you do, Stark, is for a reason. Usually not a good one.” They were standing almost nose-to-nose now. Bucky kept waiting for Stark to break, to push him aside, to do something, but he seemed content to be crowded against the wall. Bucky glanced over his shoulder to the chalkboard behind him. What he had first thought had been numbers and formulas was actually a pretty well-rendered pinup, whose clothes, skin-tight and scant though they were, did have numbers and formulas on him. 

“Say, that's pretty good,” Bucky said, impressed despite himself. Stark grinned for a moment before he pulled Bucky down and kissed him. 

It was like he had been punched. Bucky almost lost his balance, he was so startled. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Aw, come on. You've had that Miss Lonely Hearts thing going for months now. I thought I'd take a chance. I know half the company’s in love with Steve, but you know better than most that he's occupied.” 

“I'm not -- I'm not queer,” Bucky said, with gritted teeth. Stark’s ever-present smirk seemed intensify, grew menacing in a way that made Bucky’s heart thump painfully hard. 

“Neither am I,” said Stark, “hell, you've seen the kind of women I tend to attract. Call this what it is -- exigency of war.” 

“You're fucked up,” Bucky said, straightening up and rubbing his his lower lip with his thumb. Stark’s eyes followed his movements avidly. 

Then Bucky sighed and shrugged. “Why the hell not?” 

It would only be one-time thing, Bucky thought. Sure, he'd messed around with other guys, but those things hadn't meant anything. He'd messed around with plenty of girls too, and had liked it. He was normal and what he felt for Steve was -- well, it was friendship, pure and simple. 

(Although his friendship with Steve had rarely been pure and never simple.) 

Stark, though, he took obvious and immediate pleasure at being touched, and touching. After the first kiss, he didn't bother with any more preliminaries, instead unzipping his fly and taking out his cock, and doing the same for Bucky when Bucky moved too slow. They were about the same height and their cocks lined up pretty well. It didn't take a millionaire-genius-playboy-war-profiteer to figure out what to do next. 

They ground against each other, building up pressure until Bucky came, embarrassingly quick, all over Howard’s -- he had to be Howard now, Bucky realized. He couldn't have his hands and his cock on another guy and still think of him as Stark. Maybe in the future, he'd be able to compartmentalize that well, but not now. 

Howard examined his come-splattered hand with interest before he raised it to Bucky’s mouth. After a moment of hesitation, Bucky licked it clean. 

After he got his heart rate to go down, Bucky said, “This can't happen again.” 

Howard just laughed. 

*  
(It happened again. And then again. And again.) 

*

They were holed up in a lady’s old-fashioned boudoir, and Bucky felt a little bad for putting his big, muddy boots on to the delicate lacy surface of the chaise-longue, but not too bad, since the owner of said chaise had been a dedicated member of HYDRA. He smoked peacefully and occasionally ran his other hand through Howard's wild hair. Howard sitting on the floor, buck naked -- he worked best in the nude, he had explained some time ago, to a then very distracted Bucky -- working on something. 

“Other Howard telegraphed me when we were in London, you know,” Howard suddenly said, apropos to nothing. 

“I don't know another Howard,” Bucky said carelessly. “You're more than enough. Too much, even.” 

Howard turned around and looked at him, shaking off Bucky’s hand. “You know this Howard, believe me. Makes movies, builds planes that don't fly?” 

“You know Howard Hughes?” Bucky said, incredulous. 

“Sure. We're golf-buddies. And I got my first name from him.”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief. It was always hard to tell if Howard was serious or not. Bucky didn’t know much about Howard’s past -- barely knew anything about his present. 

But Howard went on, breezily informing Bucky that Hughes wanted produce a picture of Captain America and the Howling Commandos, the whole shebang. “Usually they make the comics and then the radio show and all that--” he said, “ make the kiddies go crazy about going to see their hero on the silver screen -- just as soon as they've seen everywhere else.”

“Who'd play Steve?” Bucky curiously despite himself. 

Howard shrugged. “It's slim pickings right now, what with the war and all. Maybe Van Johnson.” 

“I hate it already.” 

“Don't you want to know who'd play me?” 

“Lon Chaney?” 

“Asshole. I was thinking Cary Grant -- I’ve met him, you know. Hell of a right hook, but as sweet as honey afterward. As for you…”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, not wanting to seem to interested in Howard’s response. 

“John Garfield,” Howard pronounced, after a moment.

Bucky grinned despite himself. 

 

Later, when they were getting dressed, Howard glanced over and asked, with exaggerated carelessness, “How’s your sleep, by the way?” 

“You mean my dreams?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It's all right,” Bucky said, shouldering his rifle.  
*

The cold mountain air snapped sharp against their faces. They waited the train to come. Steve turned to him and said, in an almost puzzled way, “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Howard.” 

“Not a lot,” Bucky protested. “You know me, I felt sorry for the guy -- so I give him some tips about impressing dames. You know how it is.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, hiding a smile. “I completely believe you, Buck. Completely.” 

 

*

They got on the train. Bucky fell. 

*

Seven decades later, Bucky woke up with a start. He was disoriented for a moment, before he realized where he was -- in Steve’s apartment, with Steve sleeping in the the room. The clock on the bedside table read 4:35 AM. A perfect time, then, for him and things like him. 

He got up and stretched, sleep a forgotten memory. His room was small and coldly impersonal, which was how he liked it. It was like a hotel room, or any anonymous space. There was a least an hour or two before Steve would wake up and get ready. 

After a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Bucky paused over his shaving cream and razor -- the bright blue plastic ones that Steve got at the drugstore, ten for a buck fifty -- before deciding on yes, he would shave today, if only for the novelty of it. 

The face that looked back at him when he was finished looked so dead-eyed and solemn that Bucky wanted to laugh. Or break the mirror. Or both. 

He wasn't surprised to see the coffee machine on in the kitchen, and Steve hunched over a newspaper that he showed no signs of reading. Bucky must have made more noise in the bathroom then he thought -- or, more likely -- Steve hadn’t been able to sleep either. His expression was preoccupied, his eyes had a faraway look about them. He gave Bucky a subdued smile and asked if he wanted eggs for breakfast. 

Bucky shook his head and made himself some toast, and then pulled up a stool next to Steve. He vaguely knew that he should say something to Steve. They hadn't talked since -- since Bucky had come back. There was so much to be said that Bucky didn't know how to start. He knew he should ask about Agent Carter, something to show that he knew Steve was hurting. But the words didn't come. Then, he decided to ask Steve something that had been Instead, he stared at his toast and said, almost casually, “Steve, did I kill Howard?” 

Steve made a choking noise, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. His shoulders were shaking, almost like he laughing. But after a moment he straightened up and looked at Bucky, his face -- if not neutral, at least trying to be. “Why ask this now?” 

Buck shrugged. “It's not a good time, but I doubt it'll ever be. What’d you think of his son?” 

“Yeah, he's … Tony's a good guy, although he likes to hide it. Howard was -- he was a lot younger than Tony is, when we knew him. He was more open with a lot of things, but not everything. Tony -- he has good people around him. You've met Pepper?” 

Bucky remembers Pepper, the lanky redhead who reminds him of his mother’s favorite actress, Myrna Loy. He blinked. He still couldn't remember what his mother’s face looked like, but he knew that she and his dad had watched every single one of the Thin Man movies, leaving Bucky at home to take care of his sisters. 

The coffee machine gave a faint chirrup and Steve got up. He bustled around, not really looking at Bucky. He poured a cup out for himself, and one for Bucky. He remembered how Bucky liked it -- no milk, two lumps, a scandalous waste of sugar in those days. 

When he sipped, a wave of comfort hit him, along with the smell of it -- something hot and good and worth it. “Does Tony know I killed his parents?” 

“There's no way to confirm,” Steve began to say but Bucky waved him off. 

“If I did it, I want to remember.” He looked at Steve, “It’s important that I remember.” 

Steve swallowed. “I know, Buck. I know Howard was -- important to you.” 

“You knew?” Bucky raised his eyebrows, experimented with looking surprised, anything to get rid of this damned expressionlessness. It felt like acting, but Steve didn't know it at least. He nodded. “Peggy and I thought…” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said flatly. “Well, that’s all over now.” 

Steve shifted in his head and said, in a quiet voice, “You know it kills me to see you like that.” 

Bucky wanted -- he so wanted to fix things for Steve, fix himself --but he couldn't. He got up and threw away what was left of his toast, muttered something to Steve about wanting to get some more sleep. 

He was halfway out the window, legs dangling over the fire-escape when he heard a cough behind him. He turned to see Steve at the door. 

“Bucky, you live here. You can use the front door.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said sheepishly, as he slipped out. “Next time.” 

*

Howard was buried in cemetery in New Jersey, a deeply quiet place where the grass was still green and thick, even though it was well into November. The builder of the Empire State Building was buried somewhere here too, it had said so on the map Bucky had received coming in. Howard Stark’s grave was starred too; there was new interest in him since his son had decided to become a superhero. 

Bucky studied the headstone next to Howard’s first, and wondered if this was the same Maria Howard had talked about. She had died on the same day as Howard and Bucky knew he should've remembered something about that day, anything to pick it out from the hundreds of other days like it. But the truth was, Bucky had probably never got a clear view of Howard’s face when he made the shot. And Howard would’ve never seen it coming. 

Howard's headstone was white marble, almost plain except for his name and the dates of his birth and death. At the center, however, there was affixed a metal ring, and blue light, somewhat faint in the day, shown. There was a similar display on Maria’s grave. 

After a few minutes more, Bucky left the small bouquet of daisies in the little niche in between the graves. He was walking away when he heard the faint thud of something landing on the grass, and a voice calling after him. Bucky had a half-a-mind of keep walking, but in the end, he didn't. He turned and waited for Tony to say something. 

Tony looked a little unsure, which seemed to be an unfamiliar expression for him. “Barnes.” 

“Stark,” Bucky said, sticking his hands deep into his pocket. 

Tony disengaged his helmet and ruffled his hair, grimacing at the sunlight. “When I got a report that someone was at my parents’ grave, I didn't think that it would be you. I didn't know you were -- uh -- the sentimental sort.” 

“I'm not,” Bucky said, then he softened his voice. “But Howard was a good guy.” 

“Yeah,” Tony said, flatly. “The best.” 

“I'm not trying to be an asshole, Tony --” 

“Yeah, yeah, I don't need my dad’s ex-boyfriend telling me what a great guy he was.” At Bucky’s startled expression, Tony grinned. “Come on, let’s get some donuts.” 

“All right,” Bucky said, “I'll get some for Steve too.” He waved Tony away. “You're not carrying me there.”

Tony huffed. “Like I would. That arm of yours weighs a ton… But it would be faster.” 

“No,” Bucky said, and made his way out to the cemetery parking lot. He could _feel_ more than see Tony mocking him. But he smiled, for the first time it felt like forever. It wasn't too bad, life now. It wasn't bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for beta-ing, silverflight! All remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
